The Direct Approach
by OhTex
Summary: In the wake of discovering her feelings for a certain grouchy Director of Magical Security, Trixie Barnes struggles with her awkwardness and a bad cold. Percival Graves decides that it's time to stop messing around - after some encouragement from an old friend. Percival Graves/OC


_After several months and on the cusp of a new Fantastic Beasts film, I'm back! Don't look now, but I think things actually happen in this one. Hope you like it :)_

* * *

Percival Graves entered his office to see an iced coffee waiting for him.

Groaning in relief, he threw his jacket onto the desk and slumped in his chair. He was just contemplating slipping his shoes off – unprofessional but warranted, he thought, under the circumstances – when the door open and Trixie Barnes appeared.

"Oh. You're back." She seemed to hesitate in the doorway. He frowned.

It had been like this lately. She used to barge her way into his office with an air of confidence but she now seemed remarkably unsure of herself. He had been desperately trying to think of something that he might have said, but there was nothing. And even when she spoke to him, she had a strange panicked look on her face where there was once a confident smile and usually a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

"I'm back."

"Oh. Good." She smiled but it looked forced. "I was getting worried when they said you'd been out all night."

"Worried? About me?" He tried teasing her but instead of quipping back, she seemed uncharacteristically flustered.

"Well, all of us. Not just me. Obviously."

"Of course." He reached for the coffee but she stopped him by stepping forward quickly and saying,

"Actually, I don't think you should drink that."

"Why?"

She sniffed. "I bought it for you and I'm diseased."

Only now she had come closer could he see that she did look ill. She was paler than normal, her eyes looked watery and her nose had turned pink.

"What's wrong?" He asked quickly, only just resisting the urge to stand up and study her properly.

"Oh, it's just a bad cold. Dragon flu, they're calling it. A bit dramatic. But you shouldn't have that coffee."

He was about to tell her that he didn't care if it was riddled with dragon pox after the night he'd had, but she grabbed it quickly. His horror must have been obvious because she said,

"You'll thank me in the long run."

He huffed. He had spent all night racing across the city with a small team, hunting down a particularly nasty gang of Pro-Magic witches and wizards and now he couldn't even have his coffee. To make matters worse, the only person he actually enjoyed talking to was apparently not enjoying talking to him anymore.

"So...was everything OK? Did you get them?"

He frowned at the desk where his coffee had been. If she was so uncomfortable around him, why was she staying and making conversation? She could have just taken the coffee and gone but there she was, still fidgeting on the spot the other side of his desk. He leaned back in his chair.

"They're all in custody downstairs. Took us most of the night but they're all there."

"Mmhmm. Good." She nodded and inched closer, tapping the end of a file against the dark wood of his desk. "Oh! This is for you; preliminary background checks and criminal history."

She handed it over but still she lingered. He flicked the file open but watched her over the top of it instead. She was looking around the room and fidgeting her fingers restlessly.

Tired of trying to guess, Percival tried the direct approach. "You alright?"

She jumped. "Me? Of course! Just a cold, like I said."

He narrowed his eyes. "Not that. You've been off lately."

"Off?" Her voice went a touch higher than normal. "What do you mean?"

"You just haven't been yourself, that's all."

"Oh?" She had an expression of forced calm. "I hadn't noticed. Sorry..."

He felt a prickle of irritation. "You don't have to apologise. I want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine." She swallowed. "I promise."

He wasn't convinced but he nodded, watching her wander out of his office with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. His lack of sleep hit him as the adrenaline of the night's excitement wore off. He considered settling back in his chair and resting his eyes for a while but he resisted, standing up and deciding to head down to the holding cells. There was nothing like a good interrogation to get his mind focussed.

* * *

He didn't resurface from the cells until three o'clock. His stomach was loudly telling him he hadn't eaten for at least twenty-four hours, gaining him strange looks from some of his colleagues in the elevator. The interrogations had been a success; not only had they secured confessions from each perpetrator, but they had also gained some information on the witch who led them - a staunch supporter of Grindelwald, unsurprisingly.

He shook off those thoughts before they became too dark and found himself thinking about Trixie Barnes instead. Unusually, thoughts of her didn't make him feel much happier.

She had been so different in the past few weeks, and he had no idea why. He thought perhaps she had troubles at home she didn't want to discuss but he had seen her with her other colleagues and she was her usual, sunshine-y self. It was only when he spoke to her that her smile became forced. His first panicked thought was that she might have somehow found out about his long-harboured feelings for her, but the only person he'd told was his brother and he doubted that even Esmund, for all his love of mischief, would tell her.

He hadn't realised how much his happiness relied on their friendship until it felt like it was over.

Had they ever actually been friends? Maybe it had all been in his imagination and she was just being polite.

No, he was sure they were friends. He'd listened to her cry about her boyfriend, she had offered him help after Grindelwald, they had done puzzles together, and they had chased a criminal through MACUSA together.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly where it all went wrong. Had he become too familiar, his true feelings too obvious?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the elevator doors opening and President Picquery standing there, a stern look on her face. She had always had the unnerving ability of knowing where he was at all times.

"Graves, a word."

Everyone else in the elevator fell silent, no one daring to talk in the presence of the two most feared people at MACUSA. Sighing, he stepped out and followed Picquery to her office, nodding as politely as he could to her receptionist, Ingrid, as she greeting him with a tad too much enthusiasm.

Picquery rounded on him as soon as he closed the door behind them.

"What are you still doing here?"

"You called me in here." He quipped, his voice flat with boredom.

"Don't start." Her eyes flashed with annoyance. "I sent you home hours ago and then I hear you've been in interrogation all day."

Irritation prickled him. "I said I'd go once the job was done. Catching them is only one part of the job. Or maybe you've forgotten that while you sit in an office all day."

As soon as he'd said it, he knew he'd gone too far. Her eyes widened with fury and she took a sharp breath in. She stared at him for a while and he almost squirmed. Then she turned away, burying her hands in her pockets and staring out of the window behind her desk.

"As much as I'd love to fire you just on principle for that last remark, I'll settle for just sending you home. Again."

Her voiced ached with disappointment and guilt slugged into him with dull force. "Sorry."

She turned back around, her eyes wide again but with surprise this time. "Percival Graves apologising? Surely not."

As miserable as he felt, a small smile twitched his lips. "I had to cave sometime."

"Hmm." He was relieved to see she looked more amused than angry. But some concern crept into her voice. "I'm still sending you home." He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him. "I'm sending you home as a friend, not a boss. You're exhausted and you might think that gives you an edgy brilliance but you're not twenty-five anymore. It just makes you annoying."

He surprised himself by laughing and she smiled.

"Just go home." She said again. "You need to start trusting everyone to do their jobs. You've trained your team well; they could have easily handled those interrogations. Eugene Holt in C.A.R.D. might be terrified of you but he's good at his job and he's already dredged up all the paperwork - "

"Holt?" His mood dipped once again. "Not Trixie Barnes?"

Picquery's eyes narrowed. "No. She looked like death so I sent her home a few hours ago. She did protest a little but she's better at taking orders than you."

He tried not to seem worried so he just nodded, already mentally listing the ways in which Eugene Holt would make errors where Trixie Barnes would not.

"Maybe you should drop in and check on her on your way home."

He blinked and it took him a few moments to realise what she'd said. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. I might ' _sit in an office all day'_ ," he winced, and she seemed to enjoy his discomfort. "But I can tell you're harbouring some tortured longing for her."

He knew he should feel embarrassed that the President had noticed his feelings for a colleague, but Seraphina Picquery had known him since they had both become aurors in their twenties. She had also seen him at his very worst – a cocky, reckless womanizer with no respect for authority or any sense of self-preservation whatsoever. If she had seen him like that and still considered him to be a friend, she could obviously manage this.

"How could you tell? Is it obvious?"

She seemed to relish his slight panic before answering. "No, not really. You just seem to genuinely like her."

"I do."

"So stop moping around like some lovesick idiot and do something about it." She sighed and sat at her desk. "I'm getting bored of seeing you staring after her like an abandoned puppy. It was funny for a while but now it's just getting sad."

"Right." Suddenly, now someone else was talking about it, the whole thing didn't seem quite so lost. "What should I do? Do you think she likes me as well? Because she's been off lately - "

"How old are you?!" Picquery interrupted, looking horrified. "We're not going to debate your potential relationship like giggling schoolchildren. Just be an adult and get on with it."

He nodded, his mind racing. If their friendship was over anyway, what did he have to lose? Now was the time to take a risk. But what? He could leave something on her desk for when she returned. He could write a note confessing everything to her tucked inside the largest box of chocolates he could find. Or he could buy her a hot chocolate had have them write a message on the top in sprinkles. Or he could buy her a huge stuffed toy –

This was all ludicrous.

Romantic gestures had never really been his thing.

"For an intelligent man, you're awful at so many things." She was watching him with amusement. "Just do something nice."

He felt like a teenager infatuated for the first time. "Like what? What's normal?"

"Oh, for goodness sake..." She clicked her fingers and the golden, ornate rolodex on her desk suddenly slid open. "Trixie Barnes." The rolodex whirred wildly, different coloured card flying around and around before one emerged. Picquery plucked it from the air and handed it to him. "There. Her address."

He stared at her name, his thumb brushing over the calligraphy. He looked up to see Picquery's eyes glinting with mischief.

"Like I said, I sent her home. MACUSA would seem like a very caring employer if a senior member of staff went to check on her."

* * *

"No, not that one! Argh - "

Trixie hastily moved her niece's quick hands away from the hot, freshly baked cookies and guided them towards the uncooked pie. She watched, slightly terrified that her afternoon of careful baking was about to be destroyed by a clumsily designed pie lid and a tiny, heavy hand. But to her delight, Dotty laid the uncooked pastry on the pie gently and Trixie could breathe again.

"Excellent!"

Her niece beamed with pride and watched, fascinated, as Trixie took out her wand and waved it over the pie. It began to darken, turning perfectly crisp and filling the kitchen with the scent of cherries. Despite seeing it happen several times, Dotty gasped and clapped her hands in delight.

"Can we eat the cookies now?"

Trixie sighed, playfully ruffling her niece's blonde hair. "Not yet, sweetheart. They're still hot."

"You can cool them quicker!" Dotty pointed at the wand in Trixie's hand.

She smiled at her eagerness for treats. "But it doesn't taste as good."

Dotty harrumphed and chose to just stare at the cookies instead, trying to cool them with her mind. Trixie waved her wand and the bowls, spoons and trays all began to wash themselves in the sink. After being sent home from work by the President herself, Trixie found her mind restless. She had volunteered to look after her niece (who Trixie thought was the bringer of the evil dragon flu in the first place) while her eldest sister helped their parents in their furniture shop for the afternoon - they'd had a batch of rocking chairs they suspected were haunted and it was causing chaos in the already eccentric store.

Between baking and looking after Dotty, Trixie was hoping she would finally be distracted enough to stop thinking about a certain man she had recently realised she had certain feelings for. Since that fateful day, Trixie had desperately tried to carry on as normal but she felt so horribly awkward around him now. She kept trying to talk to him and enjoy their usual teasing but every time he said anything, she felt her toes curl in her shoes and she had an urge to cling onto something lest she fall over and make a fool of herself. Such attempts at conversations usually ended with her awkwardly backing out of the room with a pitiful excuse.

Now he had noticed – he had even asked her about it – and she had no idea what to do. Should she blurt out everything and hope that he felt the same? But if he did feel the same, what then? He might not technically be her boss, but he was still more senior than her. Where there rules against that sort of thing? She had no idea what dating him would be like. While he wasn't particularly open about his personal life, everyone in wizarding America knew the Graves family were an old, highly-respected dynasty with a lot of money and power. Trixie's family were just...normal.

Well, not exactly _normal_.

But they certainly didn't get invited to high society dinners and lunch with rich ambassadors from other countries.

She shook herself. All of this was moot anyway. There was no evidence to prove he had any romantic feelings for her at all. But as Trixie watched the scrubbing brush dislodge a particularly well-baked chunk of pastry from the tray, she considered that maybe that wasn't quite true. Now she thought about it, quite a few of the things he'd done for her and said to her could be taken in a romantic way. He'd comforted her after her break-up with Bobby, he'd been worried for her safety when a criminal had escaped in MACUSA and he'd bought her a rare book by her favourite author _and_ got her to sign it!

But more than all of that, he was kind to her.

Perhaps that shouldn't really mean much, but Percival Graves rarely made much of an effort with anyone. But with her, he always seemed to have the time to talk to her, to hear about her day, to make sure she was alright...

There was a sudden knock at the door and Trixie jumped, making Dotty giggle.

Forcing herself into action, she reached into her purse and pulled out a dragot.

"That'll be the Potion Man." She gave the dragot to Dotty. "Could you go and pay him, sweetheart?"

Dotty snatched the dragot and skipped off to the door, happy to talk to the Potion Man who always made her laugh.

Trixie waved her wand at the stack of washed trays and they began sliding back into their respective cupboards slightly noisily. But even over the din, she heard a shout.

"Auntie Trixie!"

She frowned and called back. "What is it, Dotty?"

"The Potion Man won't take the money!"

Despairing, Trixie waved her wand and the last cupboards closed. She made her way to her niece at the front door.

"What do you mean he won't take the... _oh!_ "

"Hello."

Dotty was waving the dragot at Percival Graves. Percival Graves was at her house. Percival Graves was stood on her steps. Holding flowers. And looking exceptionally handsome.

And Trixie was stood in an old pair of pyjama pants and a baggy sweater that was probably covered in snot. In fact, her sweater was _definitely_ covered in snot because Dotty had wiped her nose on it not ten minutes before.

She was suddenly very aware she hadn't said anything.

"Hello." She eventually blurted, forcing a smile that probably looked demented. "What are you doing here?"

"He's here because you bought potions from him, silly." Dotty looked up at her with a pitying look.

Trixie cringed. "No, Dotty - "

"Yes! I had one and you had one because we're not very well!"

"Yes, yes, thank you!" She sighed, and saw that, thankfully, he was finding the whole thing amusing rather than annoying.

"I just came to check you're feeling alright. And to give you these." He handed her the large bouquet of pink roses, lilac tulips and wild daisies. She took them, trying not to let her hands shake.

"Thank you, they're beautiful." She stood awkwardly on the step before hastily saying, "Would you like to come in?"

She half-hoped he'd say no. She _expected_ him to say no. But he nodded. "Yes. Please."

"O-oh. Uh, come in."

She guided Dotty inside, who was watching the whole exchange with curious eyes, while her mind raced. What was he doing here? Perhaps everyone in her department had thoughtfully clubbed together to buy her some flowers and he was just delivering them. But she could hardly imagine Percival Graves consenting to act as their delivery boy. Maybe there was some new sickness procedure where a senior member of staff had to check on their ill colleague. Or maybe, she thought wildly as she stepped back into the kitchen, he was here because he just wanted to see her.

She placed the flowers on the side and watched him wander into the kitchen, taking in the house. Percival Graves was in her kitchen. In her _family_ kitchen. She was suddenly very grateful to those haunted rocking chairs for getting her parents out of the house.

"Sorry, it's a bit of a mess." She gestured around weakly at the kitchen and lounge where it was very obvious that Trixie and Dotty had been napping, baking, playing and generally making a mess for most of the day.

"No, it's...nice." She thought he was just trying to be polite but he was smiling a little. "I'm so used to my apartment looking like no one lives in it, it's strange to see somewhere that people actually live."

"Oh. Thanks...?" She was pretty sure he was being kind, even if it did sound odd. Desperate to avoid silence, she added, "I'm guessing your family home doesn't look like this."

He laughed and shook his head. "No, definitely not." He frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure I've ever been in the kitchen. Ma always said we'd get in the way of the servants if we went in."

Trixie gaped, this revelation momentarily making her forget all about her nervousness. "I'm sorry?"

He fixed his dark eyes on her, confused. "What?"

"Ok, two things. First: you call your mom 'Ma' which might actually be the best thing I've discovered about you. Second: you have _servants_? Are you actually royalty?"

There was a pause and then he grinned, leaning back against the worktop. "That's better."

Her anxiousness came rushing back. "What?"

"You're making fun of me again."

She smiled, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen slightly. "Well, I just can't believe you have servants. And not just house elves? Actual human beings?"

"Actual human beings. We have house elves as well. Don't ask me why my parents need an army of people catering to their every wish, but apparently they do."

She snorted. "I imagine it's a big house they live in. It must take a lot of people to keep it running."

"Oh, yeah." He crossed his arms, clearly enjoying the teasing. "More of a mansion, really."

"What a surprise. I can't believe you actually came to my house." She meant it to sound like she was mocking him for going to an area that wasn't known for its wealth, but it just sounded like she couldn't believe he was actually there. Which was fair, because she really couldn't. Just a few hours ago, she was awkwardly snatching a coffee from his hands and now here he was in her house, looking annoyingly relaxed. And handsome. She mustn't forget handsome.

"Sorry to drop in on you without any warning. I forgot you live with your family..." He trailed off, his body language slightly uncomfortable for the first time. "I hope no one else minds."

"Oh, there's no one here." She said quickly. "Just us." She hadn't meant to make it sound like a leading, seductive line from romantic novel and immediately felt her cheeks grow hot. Was it her imagination, or was he closer to her than he had been a few minutes ago? He was no more than an arm's length away now; close enough to get the first hint of the undoubtedly ludicrously expensive cologne he wore. A step closer and she might be able to feel the warmth of his body -

"Can we eat the cookies now?"

They both jumped and saw Dotty watching them, apparently bored.

"Just us...and your niece." He said with a wry smile and a look of barely concealed disappointment on his face.

She swallowed and picked up the now cooled cookies, handing them to Dotty who snatched the biggest one and took it back to the nest of blankets she'd made on the couch. Trixie bought time by wandering over and tucking Dotty in, feeling his eyes on her, unrelenting and hot. Her heart was hammering in her chest. So far, he hadn't done anything except goad her into teasing him. Once Dotty was so well tucked in she was almost pinned to the couch, she turned back around and saw that he was still watching her unapologetically.

She crossed her arms, wandering back to the kitchen slowly like a prisoner being led to the block.

"It was kind of you – all of you – to get me flowers." She stroked one of the tulips thoughtfully, glancing at him quickly. "I presume they're from everyone?"

Again, he seemed less comfortable. "I...no. They're just from me."

She could feel her face burning again. "Oh."

"Is that alright?"

Now he was less sure of himself, she felt a surge of confidence. She met his gaze and smiled. "Yes."

He nodded. "Good." He seemed to pause and think. Trixie was struck with a desire to not let him think, to just make him say whatever he wanted without worrying. She felt like they were teetering on the verge of _something_ and while she might have been terrified on the way up, she was now impatient for the freefall.

"Why are you here?"

"To see how you are."

"I'm fine, thank you." She stepped closer to him again, her hand dangerously close to his on the worktop. "Is there another reason?"

His eyes were getting darker with each passing moment and there was a smirk playing at his mouth again. "Yes."

She huffed. "Which is?"

"To ask you if wanted to come to dinner with me."

Just like that. Her worries slipped away, leaving behind a delightful warmth that was spreading through her whole body.

"Oh." She bit her lip and he watched it. "That's very forward Mr. Graves. There hasn't been any romantic build-up at all, no whirlwind kiss - "

She was cut off by his lips pressing firmly against hers, making her thoughts melt away. Then one of his hands was in her hair and her fingers curled against his shirt, feeling the heat of his body seep into her. She had just got used to being surrounded by him when he pulled away just enough for him to talk.

"That better?"

She pretended to consider it. "Hmm maybe? Perhaps we should try it again. You know, just to be sure."

She pulled on his shirt and he obeyed, bending down to kiss her again, her arms wrapping around his neck as his hands gently squeezed her hips. Then he pulled away suddenly and she stared.

"What?"

"There's something very cold and sticky on my hand."

Trixie winced. "Ah. I think that's Dotty's snot."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

She laughed and stepped back to let him wash his hands, handing him a towel. As he dried his hands, he watched her with a smile. She could feel herself grinning like a fool. Who would have thought, after all these years of working with him and not suspecting a thing, that Percival Graves might be the man for her? She took a breath and tried to ground herself. After all, it was only two kisses.

"You still haven't said if you're coming to dinner with me."

She raised her eyebrows. "You haven't asked me yet."

"I did."

"No, you didn't. You said you were _going_ to ask me."

He sighed. "Same thing."

"No, it's not."

"You're infuriating."

"I wouldn't have to be if you had just done it properly."

"Trixie Barnes, would you come to dinner with me?"

"I think...yes."

"Good. If you'd said no, that would have been an embarrassing review of my kissing skills."

"I can't believe you just said kissing skills. How old are you?"

"You're the second person to ask me that today."

"Romance has got you acting like a fool."

He laughed. "Trust me, I know." He stared at her for a while longer, like he was afraid she'd disappear if he stopped looking. Trixie found that she didn't mind at all. He glanced out of the window and saw that it was getting dusky outside. "I should probably go."

She blinked, pulling herself back to reality. "Yes. My parents will be home soon and if you meet them right now, I imagine you won't want to take me out to dinner after all."

He grinned. "I'd say the same about my parents."

She led him to the door. "But I'm sure their servants are just _lovely_."

"I wish I'd never told you that."

She opened the front door and wave of cool evening air rushed over her hot skin. "Too late. I already know all about your 'Ma' and her servants."

He stepped outside, shaking his head at her with an almost adoring expression. "Saturday night? Seven o'clock?"

She felt every nerve tingle with excitement. "I can do that."

"Ok. I'll pick you up."

"Ok."

He glanced around and saw one of her neighbours emerging from his house with a curious expression. Percival cleared his throat. "Will you be well enough to return to work tomorrow?"

She grinned. "I should think so, yes. I suddenly feel full of energy."

His mouth twitched. "How curious."

She stepped back inside the house. "I'll say good evening then, Mr. Graves. Thank you for dropping by to check on me."

"My pleasure. Good evening, Miss Barnes."

She resisted the urge to watch him go, closing the door instead with a quiet snap. She took several deep breaths before entering the lounge again. Dotty was sleeping and had obviously not seen a thing, as she would be full of questions by now. Trixie moved Dotty's half-eaten cookie onto the table and walked through to the kitchen, noticing the beautiful bouquet once again. She carefully unwrapped the flowers, found the prettiest vase she could, and placed them in water. As she carried the vase up to her bedroom on the first floor, she mentally flicked through her wardrobe, wondering what one wore to dinner with their suave and rich date on a Saturday night.

She placed the flowers on her windowsill, admiring them for a moment before turning to go back downstairs. As she went, she caught sight of herself in the full length mirror. There was obvious patch of snot drying on her sweater, the check pattern on her pyjama pants had faded somewhat with age (how old was she when she had them?) and her left big toe was peeking out from a small hole in her socks. Her makeup had long worn off except for a slight smudge of mascara under her eyes and her hair was a wild tangle, with one forgotten pin at the back. She laughed.

 _Trixie Barnes, he must_ _ **really**_ _like you._


End file.
